


Relapse

by MissNaya



Category: DCU, Flashpoint (Comics)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Betrayal, Blasphemy, Church Sex, Court of Owls, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Extremely Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Past Character Death, Past Drug Use, Religion, Rimming, Rough Sex, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 21:03:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12307746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNaya/pseuds/MissNaya
Summary: Father Todd turns down the Court of Owls one too many times. As a last resort, they send in their best Talon to break him.





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**Author's Note:**

> my final JayDick Week fic! the prompts were Talons/Court of Owls // Father Todd. wouldn't ya know it, I decided to do both.
> 
> this one took me the longest and is my most "ambitious" story. it's structured a little differently than a lot of my other works, so I hope my experimentation paid off in the end!

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

The first time Jason heard the voice, sultry and masculine and tinged with mystery, he had asked, “How long has it been since your last confession, my child?”

“I've never been to confession.”

“It's never too late to seek God's forgiveness,” Jason said. He folded his hands in his lap. “What would you like to confess?”

“I've done things,” the voice said. He couldn't be much older than Jason himself, from the sound of it. “Terrible things. But all of it for Gotham.”

“It's a noble goal, defending your home,” Jason said with a nod. “But we have to remember that God comes first.”

After a long moment, the voice said, “I see.”

Jason didn't have time to give him his penance before he was gone.

* * *

 

He first noticed Richard Grayson a week later. Done up in an immaculate suit and tie, with eyes that promised things God wouldn't approve of. Jason shook his hand with a calm smile.

“Father Todd,” Richard said, grip warm and friendly. “Your congregation is lovely. _So_ welcoming.”

“Grayson, isn't it? Richard,” Jason asked. “Thomas Wayne's ward, am I remembering right?”

“The one and only.”

Richard's smile was dazzling. He held onto Jason's hand a second too long before letting go.

“It's a pleasure to meet you,” Jason said. “Will Mr. Wayne be attending?”

They met each other's eyes, and then, abruptly, both burst into laughter. The thought of Thomas Wayne, real estate mogul and owner of practically every casino in Gotham, attending _church_ was little more than a devout man's fantasy.

“It was worth a shot,” Jason admitted.

“Well, maybe I'll share a few things with him when I visit,” Richard said. He laid a hand on Jason's back, a little too far down, and guided him up the aisle. “I've heard you're an excellent speaker.”

Jason shrugged. “I only relate what God wants us to know.”

“Don't be so modest, Father,” Richard said. “Sometimes the person delivering the message is as important as the message itself.”

He winked, then knelt by a pew to cross himself before sliding down onto it. The unspoken implication settled heavily on Jason's shoulders, and stayed there for the rest of the service.

* * *

 

“The Court sends its regards.”

A month before, in the darkness, Jason didn't jump. Moonlight shone through stained glass, painting a mosaic of colors in front of him as he straightened up the church. The silhouette of a man crouching on one of the pews obscured part of Jesus Christ's face where it reflected on the ground.

“The Court recalls,” Jason mused, “the last few rejections I've sent their way?”

“Your faith is admirable,” the Talon said behind him. “We respect that. But we—”

“Want me to work for you?” Jason finished, straightening up a crucifix on the altar. “Want me to answer first and foremost to an organization that goes against all of God's wishes?”

“We don't want to get in your way,” the Talon said. “But your background—”

“Is not who I am anymore.” A little too roughly, Jason put down the communion chalice he'd started to polish. He took the time to whisper a request for forgiveness and cross himself.

“...Now, if you would like spiritual guidance, you're free to stay. But I won't entertain the idea of putting the interests of men before my mission to God.”

Sucking in a breath, he stood there until his heart rate evened out. Still, he couldn't get the images of his past out of his mind — the fights, the theft, the pain of withdrawal, the satisfaction of a hit. If the Court considered any of that useful, they could find another man to ruin.

When he finally turned, the Talon was long gone.

* * *

 

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been two weeks since my last confession.”

That time, he recognized the voice. Richard Grayson. Of course, his oath and his moral code both prevented him from reacting.

“I want to do the right thing, Father,” Richard said, “but it's hard. How can I be sure what the right thing even _is?_ What if I doubt myself and end up doing the opposite of what God wants?”

“The best thing to do,” Jason said after a moment of pondering, “is the best that you can. God can see inside your heart. He knows it when you're trying to do good. If you listen to His teachings and apply them to your life, He'll understand. Have you done something that you're worried about?”

“It's not what I've done,” Richard said. “It's what I'm thinking of doing. A position opened up at a place where I think I can do a lot of good. The people, though... My would-be coworkers. They're not exactly the godly type.”

“You should concern yourself not with what they can do, but with what you can do,” Jason said. “One spark is all it takes to make a flame. One good person can be the difference between complacency and change. Isn't that what our savior taught us?”

“Yeah... Yeah, I guess you're right,” Richard said. Jason could see his hazy silhouette nod out of the corner of his eye. “I think I'm just... worried I might end up like them. It's happened before.”

“Peer pressure can be a terrible thing.” Jason sat back and let images of white powder and whiter robes filter into his mind. “But it is possible to resist. Even the best among us are still men.”

“Even you, Father?”

Jason smiled.

“Even me.”

* * *

 

It wasn't hard to imagine what sorts of people Richard had gotten tangled up with before. At his youngest, he was a circus performer, living with the outcasts of society: the runaways, the misfits. Lord knew Jason couldn't judge a person on that trait alone, but it wasn't exactly the sort of environment that fostered perfectly law-abiding citizens.

And then there was the unfortunate accident that took his parents' lives, and he was adopted by Thomas Wayne. Billionaire, drunkard, all-around sleazeball, with his name in neon over all the seediest places in Gotham. Rumor had it that Thomas was looking for someone to replace his own son, Bruce, killed in a tragic accident years ago. Thomas was never the same after that, and dealing with his brand of ruthlessness 24/7 had to have had an effect.

After he turned 18, Richard went off to make his own way, which, for a time, meant using his good looks to model. Jason remembered seeing his face on billboards, commercials, the ripped-and-rolled-up magazine covers he used to snort coke. He remembered his eyes, mostly; there was something dead in them that, at that age, he identified with.

There was none of that in them now. He may have been living a life of greed and pride before, but during services, all Jason saw was a man with a warm heart and enough room in his arms for anyone who sought out his embrace. Maybe that was why he found himself thinking about him so often. There was something about the transformation that intrigued Jason, as if he were looking at a mirror image of himself.

He wondered what sort of darkness Richard overcame.

Richard, in turn, seemed drawn to him, always making time to speak with him before or after service. He spoke with all the passion and enthusiasm of a performer, making grand gestures with his hands before laying them on Jason's arms, his shoulders. He had a habit of leaning in close when he talked, even though he didn't have a soft voice by any means. Nor did he need to speak up to be heard; when Richard Grayson spoke, everyone nearby tended to listen.

It was fun talking to him, laughing and joking like old friends. Jason was used to being a person with authority, someone to give out guidance and expect nothing in return. But with Richard, he could just relax. They could be peers. The subject could glide easily from religion to the community to politics to entertainment and back again, until the sun went down and Jason had to scramble to finish the day's chores while Richard laughed apologetically.

Those times were the high point of their relationship.

So it was only natural there'd be lows.

  
  


“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

Jason cringed at the familiar voice in the confessional. Not Richard. Not today. Not while he was still raw from their earlier encounter.

_Eyes lingering on his lips, hands braced beside him on the desk, and a feeling of being trapped, afraid, and far too tempted._

“It's been— I dunno. It's been a few months since my last confession.”

“ _Please, Father,” Richard says in a voice like a serpent's. “Did you think I wouldn't notice how you stared at me? I know you're not supposed to, but... Just one kiss...”_

Richard must have known he was the only priest available. Jason tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and tried to be objective. God, did he try.

“The Lord is listening,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.

_Lips and teeth and tongue and the heat of bodies pressing together, and the sound of a whimper he doesn't realize is coming from his own mouth. A hand, trailing down his front._

“I— I gave in,” Richard said. “To temptation. To... _pleasure._ I thought I put all that behind me, but... Father, I've been _aching..._ ”

_It really is an ache, something physical tugging at his gut when he pushes Richard away. “I want to,” he says, “so, so badly, but...”_

“...Sometimes we have to put our own desires on the back burner,” he said. “I know it feels difficult. Impossible, even. But respect for the Lord God's wishes has to come first.”

_He tries not to watch Richard while he leaves. Tries to tell himself he doesn't catch the sway in his hips._

“What do I do?” Richard asked. “When it's all I can think about... What do I do?”

“Pray for strength,” Jason answered, little more than a whisper. “And forgiveness. And... And find another church, for a while.”

“Father?”

Jason took in a deep, shaky breath. “ _Please._ ”

* * *

 

He'd almost forgotten about the Court, with everything that was happening.

Almost.

But then, one afternoon, tending to the garden, he saw a shape on top of the cathedral. Still. Round-eyed. Watching. An owl?

No. A Talon.

Before he could stand, the Talon was gone, climbing into the bell tower's highest window. Jason sprinted after him, robes tangled around his feet.

The trek was long and winding, up steep, ancient stairs that groaned with every step he took. There was no railing along the spiral to keep him steady; up there, vertigo took hold quickly. Jason kept his eyes forward to combat it, one hand flat against a wall made of bricks as old as the city itself.

He found the Talon perched on the other end of the tower, on a thin platform inaccessible from the one attached to the stairs. The last few rays of daylight streamed in, but the Talon stood motionless behind the shadow of one of the massive bells.

“What do you want?” Jason, standing tall, tried not to show how out of breath he was. “I already gave you my answer, if that's what you're here for. It hasn't changed.”

“That's a shame,” the Talon replied, and Jason noted it was a different one this time. Its voice was softer, gentler. The sweet camouflage of a poison plant done up in pretty colors. “We had hoped you'd be feeling lonelier these days. The Court can... _help_ with that, you know.”

Jason didn't look down, but he felt his world begin to twist anyway. That voice... He had to strain to hear it from so far away, and everything was distorted behind his own hammering heart, but he could've sworn there was a familiarity to it. Where did he know it from? Where?

“You have no business here,” he scoffed. “You go back to the Court, alright? You tell them to stop bothering me. I'm in no mood for this, and I won't ask nicely again.”

Even in the dark, the Talon's teeth shone bright in a dangerous grin.

“Oh, Father,” it breathed, “I hope it comes to that.”

And then it left, leaving Jason trapped with the echoes of a memory he couldn't quite place.

* * *

 

Visits from the Court were often brief, but that last one left Jason more confused than ever. What was the point of it? A simple confirmation that nothing had changed, that was it? It certainly didn't seem worth either of their time. And why did he feel like he knew that Talon? He was overcome with the sensation of seeing a familiar face in a movie, but being unable to call forth the actor's name. The cavernous bell tower had been no place for a proper meeting, not with its smothering dust and its acoustics that made voices ring like brass. He began to suspect that the whole thing was little more than a ruse meant to throw him off his game, to distract him from the Court's real goals.

He began to exercise constant vigilance after that. Perhaps that was why Richard's absence stood out to him. It was like he left behind a physical presence, a not-so-blank space that no one else dared occupy. Not for the first time, he wondered whether he had done the right thing, sending him off. Did running from temptation count as resisting it?

As if it mattered. At night, Richard came to him in his dreams, with his bare chest and his welcoming arms, and it was only then that Jason allowed himself to give in. He would wake with the taste of Richard on his lips, skin tingling as if he'd really been there.

A few years' worth of celibacy, and look at him. He was pathetic.

Jason channeled his frustrations — with Richard, with himself, with the Court — outward, using negative emotions to build positive things, the way he'd learned when he first joined the church so long ago. He took on more counseling jobs, had livelier sermons, doubled the size of the church garden to make room for more of the food he'd give away free to anyone who came by. He spent his days in endless service to the community and to the Lord, and, slowly but surely, the distractions did their job. Once more, he felt like he could breathe.

Things were going well. He could move on from Richard, from those bastard Owls. Persevering, he sometimes thought, was the one thing he was good at. For that, he allowed himself a bit of pride.

* * *

 

The other side of the confessional was already occupied by the time Jason entered.

“Forgive me, Father,” the person said. “I've been waiting so long for you.”

Jason stilled. That voice — Richard's voice — felt like a dream today. Somehow soft and pointed all at once, cloaked in an ethereal quality that made Jason wonder if he really was asleep. He opened his mouth to reply, but no words would come out.

“ _Father,_ ” Richard said, breathless. “Father. Please tell me you're there.”

“I'm...” Jason licked his lips, swallowed the quick-forming lump in his throat. “I'm here.”

He could almost hear the smile in Richard's voice.

( _A smile with sharpened teeth._ )

“Father Todd. I've missed you. I've missed you so...” In the brief following silence, Jason could have sworn he heard something slick in Richard's confessional, something wet. “...so much.”

“Ri— I mean.” Jason ran a hand through his hair. “What are you doing? Why are you here?”

“It's okay,” Richard said. “You don't have to pretend. I want you to know it's me.”

“You didn't answer my question,” Jason said, and Richard laughed. He could see his silhouette toss its head back.

“Isn't it obvious? I'm here for you.”

He sounded different. Jason wanted to say he'd never heard that tone before, but no, that was a lie. He'd heard it right before they kissed, when Richard's voice tasted sickly-sweet before their lips had even touched. He felt a sudden, intense pang of claustrophobia, but forced himself to remain seated.

“I told you,” he said, “we can't. Richard, you're a good person, and I— I truly enjoy your company, but you can't keep doing this.”

“On the contrary, Father,” Richard said. “I can't stay away.”

Jason heard a shuffling of clothing, and a _thunk_ like Richard was re-positioning himself with a foot on the wooden wall across from him. This time, Jason couldn't deny what he was hearing: that slide and slap of skin against skin, Richard's quickening breath. His mouth dropped open, and he pressed a hand into it before he could gasp.

“Richard, stop,” he said, surprised by how helpless and _small_ his own voice sounded. “You can't do that here. You— You—”

“Come and stop me,” Richard challenged. “Come save me from myself, won't you, Father?”

“What's _wrong_ with you?” Jason asked, peripherally aware that his hands were shaking. “What's gotten into you? This isn't you, you're not—”

“Am I?” Richard giggled, forehead lolling up against the screen that separated them. “I told you, I've sinned plenty in the past...”

“For Gotham,” Jason said — almost whimpered. “You said you did those things for Gotham.”

“And that's what I'm doing now.” Those obscene sounds were punctuated by a moan, low and sultry and inviting. “Come join me, Father. I'm asking so _nicely._ ”

Jason felt all the warmth drain out of him as if, top to bottom, his blood was replaced by ice. He knew why he recognized the Talon in the bell tower now. He realized how the Court knew that he'd been lonely.

“You,” he breathed. He was scarcely able to get the words out, scarcely even able to think. “You, you, you— It was all—”

Another _thunk,_ like Richard was bracing both of his feet against the far wall. A different, wetter skin-against-skin sort of sound.

“It was all for _you,_ ” Richard said like Satan himself. “Because we want you so bad. Because _I_ want you so bad, Father Jason Todd from Crime Alley.”

“I'm not—” Jason had to raise his voice to be heard over another moan. “I'm _not_ doing this! Not for you, not f-for anyone.”

“You've spread your legs before, Father.” Jason imagined Richard's sharp smirk on the other side of the confessional, wanted abruptly to choke it off of him. “For a hit. For Brother Blood. Why not for me?”

“Another lifetime,” Jason managed to croak out. He clutched his hands in his lap until his knuckles went white, one hand holding his fist steady. “Literally. You and your _people_ should know that, if you know so much about me.”

“Who says you can only be reborn once?” Richard sounded, at once, smug and vulnerable, doubtlessly indecent where he sat. Those wet sounds sped up, tugging at something inside Jason that he tried to ignore. “ _Oh,_ the fun we could have together... Father— _Jason..._ They'll let us be together there. Don't you want to— _ah_ — know what it's like inside me? I'm so tight for you, Jason, so wet... _Ooh,_ just the thought, I'm _throbbing..._ ”

Jason wasn't sure when he'd transitioned to covering his face with his hands, slumped over like a man in agony, but when he spoke next, it came out muffled.

“I'll call the police,” he said, with far less bite than he intended. “I'll have you taken away. Thrown in a cell.”

“Oh, will you?” Richard's next laugh was crueler than anything Jason had ever heard from him before. “What will they do to me? To _Thomas Wayne's_ son?”

Jason ached, but he knew it was true. Even ignoring Richard's ties to the Court, corruption in Gotham ran deep, and with every cop in Wayne's pocket, not a damned person would help him. He'd have to help himself. Again.

For the first time in years, he felt so alone. How could he pray to God for strength when his mind was occupied with thoughts of Richard and debauchery, and, even after everything, a desire to eschew his duties and give in to the overwhelming temptation? His time spent with Richard was obviously a lie, so why couldn't he just forget him and move on? He didn't deserve to be sitting where he was. He didn't deserve his robes or his position.

At his silence, Richard cooed. “It's okay, baby. It's hard. I know; _trust me,_ I know.” Another giggle, cut off by a tight, high-pitched moan. “But you'll forget all your worries after a night with me. I'll make you forget. Sound good? I promise, I'll make you forget...”

Jason slid to his knees and started to pray. He kept at it until Richard left his side of the confessional and pushed into Jason's.

Then he prayed for God to look away for a while.

* * *

 

How long had they been at it? Hours? Days? Jason couldn't concentrate on anything but Richard's touch, his voice, his face. The air in the confessional had grown so hot and thick that Jason was left lightheaded, constantly on the verge of passing out.

He'd fought at first, but not hard enough. Something in him, something beyond the pacifism he'd sworn to since coming back to life, kept him from truly trying to harm Richard. Something like the memory of laughter and endless conversations and simpler times.

Richard had been able to overpower him pathetically fast. Jason felt like he was drowning, and kissed Richard back like he'd be able to breathe the life back into him. He tried to cling to him, to hold him there and pretend that was as far as they'd go, but Richard had made it abundantly clear he intended to ruin Jason in every possible way.

Everything happened so fast that Jason couldn't keep track of what had occurred when. Had Richard crawled under his robes and sucked him off first, or had he coaxed Jason's mouth between his cheeks to let him lap haphazardly, hungrily, at his hole? Had Richard ridden his face first, or his cock? When had Jason stopped begging for it to end and started begging for it to continue?

He remembered what happened last, though. He remembered running out of patience with himself for being so helpless. He remembered grabbing Richard's hips hard enough to bruise, rutting into him, biting him until he bled, all the while growling like the beast he thought he no longer was, letting Richard's screams and moans play in his ears like music. He felt a hatred he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years, and, _Lord,_ it was addictive.

And once they'd finally stopped, and Richard had pet his hair and muttered empty praise and devil's promises to him, Jason remembered he still kept a dagger in his boot, one he knew well how to use, just in case.

He wondered if he could get away with one more sin before his inevitable repentance.

 

**Author's Note:**

> more sin, as always, can be found on my [tumblr.](https://dicktofen.tumblr.com/)


End file.
